#scott does harbor something inside him which wants to hurt him

[triggeringthehealing]

happy ending

Derek/Stiles | ~1.4k | G | AO3

Summary: If you want a happy ending, it depends on where you stop the story. Through the years, Derek thought about the quote often. He wondered which ending would be right for him, where his story was going to stop. 

A/N: Written for the @fullmoonficlet challenge - prompt #316: end

It's a quote that lingers on Derek's mind through the years. He heard it it in school a long time ago, as part of his English class.

If you want a happy ending, it depends on where you stop the story.

He thought about it so many times that it comes to him naturally every time something big starts or ends. Every time there's a major change for the better or for worse.

The first time he remembers clearly thinking about it was right after the fire. He recalls telling himself that it wasn't the right moment to stop his story because the ending wouldn't be happy. He'd thought about it after, when he was in New York with Laura. Wondered whether he should have done what she stopped him from—running into the burning house, trying to save them. He knows now that it would have been pointless, that the same mountain ash circle that kept his family in would leave him outside with no way of breaking through, not without the help of a druid or a human. He sometimes wonders why none of the humans inside broke it, but it's a futile exercise in self-torture.

He also thought about it later, when he found Laura dead in the forest and then when he discovered that it was Peter who killed her. There were many instances during those years when he reminded himself that it wasn't the end, that it couldn't be if he wanted to call it a happy ending. Even when he didn't believe that he could have one, the quote still kept coming to him without him trying to think of it.

But then the war against the hunters, the one that the werewolves didn't start but intended to finish, was winding down. There were almost no bloodthirsty hunters left in the country and those who were outside it were likely to stay there. Derek was along for the ride as Scott and Chris formed an alliance so strong that it convinced the majority of other hunter families that they could help instead of attacking packs that protected territories and never hurt anyone in anything other than self-defense.

It was during that time that he became close with the pack. He knew he would never really be a part of it, he'd never be Scott's Beta—not for lack of consideration—but he was at least pack-adjacent. At least that's what Stiles called him. Them, really. Because Stiles, regardless of his close friendship with Scott that survived more than most friendships ever do, didn't return to Beacon Hills permanently. Many of those who were on the outskirts of the pack stayed that way because they never came back for more than occasional visits. Jackson and Ethan in London where they were eventually joined by Danny. Isaac in France, where Chris found him a pack to call family, one with a strong alliance to the Argents there, similar to Chris's alliance with Scott. Cora in South America, with the pack that took her in after the fire, the one that welcomed her back with open arms when Derek and Peter dropped her off after she returned to Beacon Hills for a while.

Pater, of course, still harbored ideas of taking over, but as far as Derek was aware he kept those ideas in check. More so when he found a new partner and looked like he was going to settle down again, have a home.

Malia continued traveling, visiting places around the world and—Derek suspected—looking for her mother to get the answers she didn't get before. Ones she would never get from Peter.

There were those who stayed in Beacon hills, or who came back. Kira, for one, when her training was complete and she was in control of her Kitsune powers again. Liam, Corey, and Mason, all of whom left for college and then came back.

Others stayed the whole time, like Melissa, Chris, John, and Jordan. All of them found their own happy endings right there in town, some with each other.

The quote about those happy endings stayed out of Derek's mind for a while during the years when things weren't as hectic though still not completely calm. It felt like limbo—Monroe still on her mission to attack and eradicate werewolves, Scott's pack working on stopping her.

It wasn't until she was taken out by a hunter, of all people, when she attacked their family instead of a werewolf pack and more people realized that her goals were dangerous and unattainable. There were still factions of her former army around the world, but they were scattered and without a leader, which made them a lot less of a threat.

That was when Derek finally started looking for a place to settle down again. The land in Beacon Hills still belonged to him but he handed some of it to Scott, who was the territory's Alpha now, nd a small fraction to Peter to help him settle down close to what he used to call home.

But Derek wanted to find somewhere else.

In the end, he found his way to New York, to the apartment that Laura bought after the fire, the one where he spent years back then. It was still theirs in name and with her gone, the deed was transferred to Derek. The place held too many bad memories though so he sold it but then decided to stay nearby. He moved outside of the city, to a less inhabited area, on the territory of a pack he became friendly with in the process of trying to stop Monroe and her minions.

Then, as if by coincidence, it turned out that Stiles got assigned to the FBI offices right there, in the city. There was a whole new department in the agency, spearheaded by Rafael and Stiles—once he was done with training—to deal with the supernatural side of the world.

"So, you're dealing with X-files," Derek said once and got a whole lecture on how werewolves existing was reason enough to wonder whether aliens were around too.

When Stiles found out that Derek had a home in the area, he insisted that they keep in touch. Derek didn't mind, long past the resentment he carried with him about their initial meeting along with the reason for his arrest and many other things. Stiles turned into a good friend fast and they ended up spending a lot of their free time together.

That's why he's here now, in the house he's made into a home, with Stiles stretched out on the couch the morning after spending the night there. They kissed for the first time less than twelve hours ago, the tension that's been growing between them for the past few months finally making Stiles snap and ask whether he was the only one feeling more.

He wasn't, Derek told him.

Now, knowing that this is something he really wants to work, seeing Stiles perfectly comfortable in the house—unsurprisingly, he spends more time here than in his own apartment—makes him think of the quote again.

"If you want a happy ending," he mumbles under his breath, glancing out of the window once he pulls his eyes away from Stiles.

It's not him who says, "it depends on where you stop the story."

"Hey," Derek says, turning back to the couch.

Stiles is there, getting up and looking like he's still mostly asleep, but his eyes are glued on Derek.

"Are you trying to tell me this is the end?"

Derek shakes his head.

"It's just a thing I've been going back to for a long time. It never felt like a happy ending."

"And this does?" Stiles asks, walking up to him and reaching for Derek's hand.

"Maybe. The end of something. The beginning of something else?"

There's more hope in his voice than he intended to, more hesitation too. It's too soon to be talking about the future this seriously, he thinks, but the words are out there now and he can't take them back.

"You know, I've heard your quote before, many times," Stiles says, leaning against Derek's side as they both look out into the forest around the house. "But there's another one that fits right now"

Derek knows he doesn't need to ask, that Stiles will tell him anyway.

"Every end is a new beginning."

"I like that," Derek tells him.

"So, we stop the old story here and start our own."

Derek smiles and turns to kiss him.

[abunchofbadchoices]

Michael's Song

HSS Michael x MC (Jordan) in Midnight Sun AU

*Disclaimer: Most of the lines and scenes I got from the movie the Midnight Sun and all the rights belongs to the creators and writers, as well as the characters from PB. This is merely a converted fan fiction*

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six

Part Seven

They let their feet guide them to wherever they go. The town is silent, but not in a creepy silence kind of way. Just the kind of quiet when you can able to clear your mind and feel at least a bit of peace.

Somehow, the two of them ended up by the shipyard which is, of course, empty at midnight. His uncle's boat was located to the private area, where most luxury boats and yachts are place. Michael got them in without problem as he had access to the gates and together, they walk down the path and passed by different kinds of boats.

The wind is cool, but not too freezing. Jordan's wavy blonde hair gets blown by the breeze from time to time but not enough to mess it. She looks at the dark sky, eyes closed in bliss as she inhale the fresh salty breeze coming from the sea.

Michael had been recording their little trip with his digital camera. Then smiles at the sight of happiness on her face, glad to have brought her to the place he goes to when he needs some peace, so he made sure it was all caught in the cam.

"I-I don't get it." Jordan suddenly turns to face him and the camera, blushing. "How could they just take your scholarship away?"

Ah, yes. Their latest topic of conversation : College. Michael brought her up to speed about what he has been doing, about football and about wanting to go into filming, when she noticed him recording the party earlier.

It was rare for him to tell a story, much less something that has left a bitter taste in his mouth, but there was something about Jordan that makes it easy to open up a little.

He paused the camera and looks down as they walk, his left shoulder suddenly feels like tingling at the memory. "Well, I had to have a surgery, and they didn't think I could ever play again. No more scholarship meant no more Berkeley. It was probably my only choice of place to go to, away from here."

Jordan nods slowly, understanding etched on her beautiful face. "I'm really sorry."

"Yeah."

He feels sorry for himself too, if he wasn't too busy thinking how he brought it all to himself, or how he was fooled by his so-called friend.

"So, how did you do it?" She asks deliberately, in a careful yet soft voice. "How did you hurt yourself?"

"It was just a freak accident. You know, I fell down some stairs and... that's not true." Michael paused, then stops to look her in the eye. He wants to see it in those innocent green orbs as soon as he tells her the truth. He wants to see the same judgemental gleam everyone gives him when they hear about it. "That's kind of what I tell everybody."

Jordan knits her eyebrows, an indication that she was being thoughtful and sympathetic. But she stays quiet and let him continue.

"I got really drunk one night at my friend Brian's house. It was his birthday and we're all having a drinking game, just the school team. We all agreed he can give all the dares and well... He dared me to jump off the roof into the pool. I clipped the edge with my shoulder." He let out a humorless chuckle, remembering his father's raging disappointment. His coach's regretful voice when he told him he can no longer play. "I'm such an idiot. I don't wanna be that guy, you know?"

A few steps passed. From the corner of his eyes, he noticed Jordan look up at him with a gentle smile. She shakes her head. "Then don't be."

That was all he needed to hear. He hates long talks about having faith and listening to fake promises that everything is going to work itself out.

There, Jordan doesn't seem to feel the need to promise or reassure him, she knows it was all out of their hands. It was her calming presence that gives all the reassurance he needed.

"You know," she starts. "My mom used to take me here when I was little."

"Really?" He smiles.

It was the first bit of personal story she ever shared that night. Jordan is a big mystery, giving very little information about herself or what she does every day. All she ever told him was that she isn't available during the daytime and as much curious as he is, he never asks 'cause he trusts her to tell him at some point.

Jordan points to a spot by the harbor, a huge cleared space overlooking the sea. "She sat me right... there. And, um, she tried to teach me how to play the guitar. Actually, this watch was hers." The girl held up her wrist, where a gold watch was wrapped and complementing her pale flawless skin. "I spent so much time looking at this thing on her hand, and..." Her smile turns wistful. "Uh, she died when I was little. She was in a car accident."

"I'm... I'm so sorry," Michael frowns, worried he had totally blew their night off. "You know, we can go someplace--"

"No. No, no." Jordan shakes her head quickly. "No, I'm...I'm good. "

"You sure?"

"Yeah, yeah. I promise."

Michael offers his hand. "You wanna see something cool?"

His uncle's boat was only a few meters down the pathway so Michael lead the girl to the private sailing boat where he practically spends all his time since summer starts.

"Ta-da!" He spreads his arms, jumping on board which sways gently on its spot.

Jordan's eyes widen. "This is yours?"

"No. But it's something I'm taking care of for the summer. It's a Jespersen 53."

"Wow..."

Michael reached out and she let him help her up to the deck as well. He watched her balancing awkwardly on her feet and smirks. "One of these days we could take her for a sail around the harbor. We can watch the sun set."

Jordan holds onto a metal support beam and smiles up at Michael. But the last sentence he uttered just registered in her mind and suddenly, she felt a huge lump on her throat.

Michael wants to go on sailing with her to watch the sunset. Out on the sea. It was probably the most romantic idea she ever heard if only she can be able to make it come true.

Which is impossible, unless she wants to achieve a grade-A cancer that will probably wipe off any chance of ever going to sailing ever again. Jordan pretends to watch the sea. She doesn't want Michael to see that she can never go with him on those trips. Not as long as there is sunlight involved. Hell, he doesn't even know what the main problem is.

Just tell him, dammit! Her mind and conscience keeps on scolding her.

No, no. She can't... She doesn't want to. What if Michael starts seeing her more like a fragile sick creature than the funny awkward Jordan he had always known?

"That sounds... perfect." She says instead.

Michael leans down from the elevated deck he is standing on and press his lips softly on her. Jordan reaches up and put his hands on his shoulder, pulling him closer as she responded to the gentle kiss in a deliberate manner.

You see, Jordan had never kissed anyone before, not this way. Surely, those kisses all over Maria's face that she used to give her when she feels like annoying her wouldn't have counted.

It feels like forever, their lips melting to each other like they were meant to be that way. A smile tugs the corner of her lips and when they pulled away, Michael has the same smile on his face.

▪️▪️▪️

Luckily, the pickup truck decided to die just a house away from the Lee's house.

The engine rumbled and groaned before completely stalling in the middle of the road. Michael fumbled on the steering wheel. "Um, just, let me get out of..."

He tries once more, there was a brief groan then the engine died all over again. Jordan grinned, studying the guy's face which looks a bit redder than usual. Oh, he's embarrassed. It only makes her smile for more.

"Sorry." He says, sounding sheepish but not at all surprised.

They sit in silence for a few awkward moments. Jordan bites her lip. "So, what are you gonna do this year, now that you're not going to Berkeley?"

"Well, first I'm gonna get a new truck." Michael quipped. They chuckle. "Or not, I have my motorcycle anyway. And then I'm gonna drive across the country. You know, I've been in the football field my entire life and I haven't get to see much else, so..." He looks at her, noting the downcast look on her face. The beautiful smile gone. "Um, what are you gonna do--"

"I'm not doing anything." Jordan says immediately, shaking her head. "I'm just gonna take some online courses, I think. But... I'll just be here." I cannot leave anyway, she wanted to add. I cannot go across the country or have vacation under the sun...like a normal girl.

"I, uh... I meant what are you doing tomorrow?" Michael clarified. The shock on the girl's face made him laugh.

"Oh, God..." She slapped her forehead, but she is also laughing. A hint of hesitation passed through her face for a second. "Um... I... I'm busy during the day, but I can be free tomorrow night."

"That's perfect. I'll see you tomorrow night?"

"Okay." Jordan flashed him with her signature beam before jumping out the door. She made it a few feet away before she stopped as if she forgot something and run back to the window. "I have something to tell you." Concern filled his chest at the look of panic in her eyes. She sighed heavily then let out a guilty smile. "I don't actually have a hamster."

Michael grinned, not at all surprised. In fact he didn't even try hide it. "No shit."

As if satisfied, the girl waved her hand then run to her house.

From the inside, Scott watched his daughter get off a blue pick-up truck. He glances at his watch and sees it was almost three in the morning. A couple more hours and Jordan might have reach the morning sunlight.

This was exactly what Dr. Maddox had warned him about. The age when his daughter will no longer be contained inside the house and meet people that will trigger some issue on her condition.

The truck isn't Maria's. Jordan didn't went home with her best friend just like what they always talked about.

He couldn't help but feel threatened.

▪️▪️▪️

That morning, Maria lies on Jordan's bed, with the latter has been using her stomach as a pillow while she strummed lazily on her guitar.

It was moments like this that she feels closer to the blonde. No parties, no other friends... No Michael. Just the two of them having a lazy morning with no plans to think about.

Last night had been the first time Maria really enjoyed a wild party. She threw caution to the wind and let herself lose, probably had drunk more alcohol than she ever had her entire high school years. It was also a bonus fun that Jordan adjusted rather quickly to the party and managed to gain some more friends.

And today, well, they have nothing to do.

A beep sounded from her phone and Maria put down her book. She opened the message and smirk at joke that was sent to her.

Jordan glances up, eyes narrowing suspiciously. She had noticed Maria had been texting a lot that morning. "Who are you texting?"

"No one." The dark-haired girl casually turns of the screen and dump her phone.

"Maria..." She put her guitar on the side of the bed and shifts on the bed to face her friend. "Who are you texting?"

Maria closes her eyes and winced at her soft voice then whispers almost inaudibly. "Caleb."

"Um? I can't hear you when you're whispering..."

"Caleb!" She repeated. Somehow she feels guilty for the other things that happened in the party. It is true that alcohol makes people lose control sometimes. "I made out with Caleb!"

Maria groans, face completely red as she buries her face on the pillows in shame. At some point during the night, in the middle of the dance floor, she and Caleb ended up dancing on a particularly sexy song. Then stuffs happen. After that Maria felt like getting sick because Caleb isn't exactly the one she was thinking off during their...uh, moment.

She tried looking for Jordan, but neither her best friend nor Michael were nowhere in the party. So she rushed to get home by herself.

Now, Caleb had been texting her all morning. However rude it might be, Maria admitted she wasn't attracted to him as she is already liking someone. Which led to the guy teasing her and coercing her to tell him who the lucky person is.

"No!" Jordan cooed, but her chuckles betrayed her voice. "He's really really really cute. And he totally likes you."

Maria stayed buried on the pillows and after a few minutes, she felt arms wrapping around her and cuddling her. The blonde nuzzles on the back of her neck, which tickles but she tried to ignore it.

"By the way," Jordan speaks close to her ear, her breathe sending shivers down her neck. "Can I tell my dad that I'm going over to your house tonight, so I can go hangout with Michael?"

What??

In a micro-second, Maria is sitting on her butt and looking at her best friend pointedly. "You're asking me to help you lie to your father so you can hang out with a guy?"

Jordan pouts.

"Ugh. I'm telling him you'll be having a sleepover to my house." She conceded anyway. She is totally powerless when it comes to pouts.

▪️▪️▪️

[jarienn972]

The Right Place - Chapter Three

This chapter isn’t quite as long as the last one, but there’s still quite a bit happening. This installment features the first of several flashbacks which will shift POV to different perspectives, each providing new insight to the mystery.

From the beginning on Tumblr:  Prologue/Chap One  Chap Two

Also on  AO3  and FF.net

Tuesday afternoon, Portland Harbor

The drive to the harbor took almost exactly fifteen minutes despite hitting nearly every traffic light red on their way. Deputy McCallen pulled the early 2000s era faded beige or maybe pale gold unmarked Ford Taurus into the parking lot of a dated but well maintained convenience store that had at one time also been a gas station. Still bearing the weathered awning that once covered the pumps, Scott's Mart had long ago stopped selling any fuel other than propane to focus on the store and its fledgling coffee shop. Only a few blocks away from the revitalized Old Port area where many of the former warehouses had been converted to nightclubs and restaurants, this side of the harbor near the ferry terminal had clung to its maritime roots, frequented more by commuters and commercial fishermen than tourists or trendy locals.

McCallen already knew bits and pieces of the area's history both from having grown up here in Portland as well as from information Sgt. Haviland had shared with him earlier that morning. This shop's current owner was Jean Scott, the blonde haired fifty-something woman from the security video who was the third generation of the Scotts to operate the store, but first to be forced to make drastic changes to how her business was run so she could adapt to the new harbor front development. Her business survived mostly from her regular customers – dock workers, fishermen and the daily commuters arriving and departing from the busy ferries serving the outer islands. Her enviable location only a block from the terminal was predominately what had kept her business afloat.

During the drive over, McCallen had attempted to keep his questions related to the investigation, not wanting to offend Emma with unprofessional inquiries that would make him appear inexperienced, but he found that a few nagging queries just wouldn't remain silent – one of which made its way to his lips as he turned off the engine of the Taurus.

"Okay, I have to know something," he began, shifting to face his passenger. "What's the significance of the jewelry?"

"The jewelry? What jewelry?" Emma wondered, confused at the sudden seemingly irrelevant question.

"Your husband's jewelry – those ornate rings, the skull and crossbones necklace – like something right out of a pirate movie. Does he have some sort of pirate fetish or something?" His inquiry caught her so unprepared that she nearly choked while trying to suppress a giggle.

"Well, that's another really long story…," she chuckled. "I wouldn't even know where to begin. Suffice it to say he really loves the sea."

"So – no fingerprints in the system, no driver's license, a potentially disturbing fascination with pirates… I've got a feeling there are a whole lot of 'long stories' involved here…"

"You have absolutely no idea," Emma laughed as she pushed open the passenger side door and climbed out of the car while McCallen shook his head in mock frustration.

"Think maybe you'll fill me in on some of those long stories as this case goes on?" he asked as he exited the car. "Like what possessed you into making the decision to come over here with me rather than staying with your husband at the hospital?"

"That's an easy one to answer. I know for a fact that Killian would rather have me out here trying to track down the people who hurt him instead of sitting uselessly by his bedside feeling sorry for him. He'd never allow that. As for the rest, you probably wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" he mumbled as they strolled toward the shop's front door which bore a very large "CLOSED" sign even though they could clearly see the proprietor inside as she attempted to replace a broken shelf on a display case. McCallen rapped loudly on the glass which garnered an angry shout from inside:

"We're closed! Just like the sign says."

"Ms. Scott? I'm Deputy McCallen with the Cumberland County Sheriff's Department. We spoke briefly earlier and I'm here to ask you a few more questions if you don't mind, remember?"

"I've already talked to Portland PD about the robbery," the woman shouted back. "I don't know what else I could possibly tell you that I didn't already tell them."

"Ms. Scott," the deputy persisted. "I'm not here to ask you questions about the robbery per se. I'm investigating a different case – what might be an attempted homicide."

"Attempted homicide?" the woman's tone softened becoming more quizzical as she placed the shelf bracket onto the tile floor, then stood up and walked over to the door. "What attempted homicide and what the hell does it have to do with me?" she asked the deputy through the door, not yet convinced to open it for the young man and his blonde companion with the messy ponytail and a no-nonsense scowl etched onto her face.

"The man the robbers took hostage two days ago – he turned up half dead on Little Diamond Island later that day…" McCallen informed her.

"Wait – the guy in the leather jacket?" Jean Scott asked, clearly surprised as she immediately unlocked the door and pushed it open. "The good looking British guy who was here in my shop was the unidentified person they were talking about on the news last night?"

"We're pretty sure he was," the deputy replied as the shopkeeper stepped aside, now eagerly inviting both of her guests inside. "We're hoping you can help us figure out how he got out there."

"Yeah, sure…," Jean said, her demeanor completely changed now as she closed the door behind them and relocked it. "I don't know how much I can help you, but I'll tell you this much, the guy probably saved my life. Guess I owe him a few minutes of my time to try and answer your questions."

"We really appreciate it, Ms. Scott," Emma spoke up. "My name is Emma Jones, Sheriff of the town of Storybrooke," she decided to use the professional title to introduce herself to establish her relevance in the investigation. "The man in the leather jacket who was here on Sunday was my husband, Killian, who also serves as Deputy Sheriff in our department."

"Killian, huh? He never mentioned what his name was, but he kept positioning himself between the robbers and me. He wouldn't ever let them get too close," Jean stated. "Him being a deputy makes sense now. He just stayed calm and kept talking to them – kind of like he'd done it before, you know?"

"What can you tell us about that morning leading up to the robbery and hostage situation?" McCallen asked as he withdrew his notepad and pen.

"I really already went over this with the cops," the shopkeeper groaned, turning her back to them as she took a step toward her coffee shop counter in the rear of the store. "Do you really want the full replay?"

"It would be a huge help to us," Emma pleaded as Jean continued over to the counter then reached across it to press a button on her industrial sized coffee maker, positioning a large chrome carafe onto the base before plopping herself onto one of three barstools.

"Well, then, coffee's brewing…," Jean sighed. "You two aren't in a hurry, are you?"

Two days earlier

Sunday had started out as a typical weekend morning – the usuals dropping by for a cup and a chat before heading out to wherever they spent their day whether that might be work or play. It had been, for the most part, a lovely day – bright and sunny although still a tad chilly for April, but it had been exceptionally windy. She'd glanced out the front windows on a few occasions to spy her hand-lettered sign swaying on its post and watched the steel awning above the long absent gas and go area occasionally heave with a strong gust. She made a mental note to have the boys next door check it out once the wind died down, thankful that at least these weren't gale force winds or she likely would have lost a section by now.

Mid-morning was always the lull of the day - especially on the weekends. Ferry traffic slowed and customers were infrequent although usually things picked up as it got closer to lunch time when a few regular patrons would drop in for a sandwich from her cooler or just another steaming hot cup of joe to thaw their insides. Some days, it seemed as though the handful of repeat customers she had was all that was keeping her going, but Jean Scott wasn't ready to throw in the towel just yet. This was more than just a business to her – it was her family's pride and joy. The shop had stood here on the harbor, a block from the Portland ferry terminal, for nearly fifty years and Jean was now the third generation of her family to run it, following in her father and grandfather's footsteps. So much had changed down here on the waterfront in all of those years, but she wasn't ready to part with the shop just yet, never mind the constant badgering she got from developers who wanted her to sell to them. It just wasn't time for that yet.

A little after 10:30am, she'd started cleaning out one of her two largest coffee carafes in preparation for the lunch rush when she'd heard the little electronic buzzer sound that informed her a customer had entered the shop, a feature she'd recently installed for times like these when her head was buried under the counter. Alerted that she was no longer alone in the shop, she perked her head up to see if it was one of her usuals, but instead of a regular customer, she laid eyes on a man she'd never seen before. There wasn't a single thing about this man's appearance that would have led her to believe he was from this area looking as out of place on this harbor as anyone could imagine. He stood not quite six feet tall wearing a black leather motorcycle style jacket adorned with silver zippers and buckles over a neatly pressed indigo blue Oxford shirt and what appeared to be a black leather vest.

But it wasn't just his clothing that drew her attention, it was the total image he presented. He wore his chestnut brown hair short and sported several days growth of neatly trimmed stubble along his jawline and upper lip that lent to his roguish charm. She wasn't really certain how to describe his demeanor but it essentially came down to a mix of biker tough meets Harvard scholar – his air of confidence oddly captivating as he stood next to the checkout counter.

"Morning!" she called out, scurrying from behind the coffee shop counter to greet her new customer. "Welcome to Scott's Mart. What can I do for you this morning?"

"I was told by a neighboring establishment that I could get a decent warm beverage here while I await the next ferry over to Peaks Island," the man replied in a strongly accented voice she suspected was British. She could see that his face and ears were flush from the cold and wind, but he didn't seem the type to complain about a chill in the air.

"You sure can get a warm beverage here," Jean smiled. "What's your preference – coffee or tea?"

"Preference would be rum but this hardly looks like a tavern so I'll settle for whatever you've got handy."

"Well then, have a seat. I'll have a fresh pot brewed in no time," she snickered.

"Much appreciated," he responded, flashing a huge smile that would have made her weak in the knees were she twenty years younger. "Don't suppose you would know what time the next ferry is scheduled to depart, would you?" he asked, placing a paper sack that she recognized as coming from the neighboring Mac's Maritime Supply store onto the counter before taking a seat on the furthest of the three barstools – the one closest to her six foot by three foot aquarium – by far her favorite feature of the entire shop. She loved to watch her vibrantly hued tropical fish swimming around the tank as they could always calm her on a stressful day.

"There's a schedule posted on the wall to your right," she informed him, "but most of these ferries have been on the same schedule since I was a kid so I can tell you that the next ferry over to Peaks leaves at 11:25am." She circled around to the rear of the counter and retrieved an alabaster ceramic mug from the shelf. "How do you like your coffee, sir?"

"As strong as you can get it and straight black," the stranger replied with a wide grin and for the first time since he'd walked into her shop, Jean realized he had the bluest eyes she'd ever seen. Damn! Where had this guy come from?

"Haven't seen you around here before…," she started making a little small talk and flirting unmercifully as she filled the mug nearly to the brim with the steaming dark liquid and expertly slid it across the countertop to her customer.

"Thank you," he replied, gracing her with yet another amazing smile. Was this her lucky day or what? "And, no – I'm not from your city. I sailed into the vicinity this morning only to have the bowline on my mainsail snap. They didn't have the proper tensile strength line at the shop I visited out on the island so the gentleman there recommended an establishment here on the mainland."

"Not sure I'd call Mac's Supply shop an 'establishment', but he's got the best inventory in the area," she chuckled.

"Indeed. Found a suitable implement to at least get me back home – although it'll probably take me a fair portion of the afternoon to get it tied off properly again."

"So you're a sailor?" she questioned, enthralled by this fascinating new customer. "You don't look like any sailor I've seen around these parts…"

"Ah… looks can be deceiving, milady," he replied with a devilish smirk. God, this guy oozed charm, she thought… And that accent… She could listen to him talk all day, but she had to keep reminding herself she needed to get back to work before the lunch rush. And besides – a guy this good looking, he had to be taken.

"Well, Sailor, let me know when you need a warm up. I've got to get the rest of my machines cleaned out and ready to brew before the lunch crowd arrives." The man nodded in agreement as he took a tentative sip of his coffee to test its temperature before placing the mug back into the counter and reaching into a pocket to retrieve his cell phone. Jean watched him slowly typing out what must have been a text message as she poked her head out of the alcove that served as the coffee shop's makeshift kitchen. "Might have to duck outside to get that to send," she advised. "Signal tends to be pretty weak in here."

"Thank you," he responded as he stood up, phone in hand. "Appreciate the advice." Leaving his parcel and the coffee mug on the counter while the beverage cooled, the dark haired stranger took a few steps toward the store's entrance intending to make a quick jaunt outside to send his message. He never quite made it past the racks of candy, snacks and chewing gum as he found his exit blocked by two individuals wearing heavy down jackets and ski masks pulled over their faces barreling their way through the door. It wasn't all that unusual for Jean's customers to enter the shop with their faces protected from the elements, especially on such a breezy, cold day with the sea spray being whipped up by the wind, but courtesy dictated taking off said coverings once inside. Something about their body language was off and Jean Scott's sailor-in-black-leather customer instantly sensed something wasn't right.

Because these two weren't customers at all.

Present Day

"Don't get me wrong," Jean Scott continued with her story, "this wasn't my first time around. I've had plenty of experience dealing with shoplifters and robberies over the years, but something about this time was different…"

"In what way?" Emma wondered, finding herself both curious about the crime and amused at Ms. Scott's description and portrayal of Killian.

"Most of the crooks we've dealt with around here have been kids. They burst in, demand money and take off or they sneak in, shove things into their pockets while trying to keep me distracted. Either way, these guys – they weren't in a hurry. They came in, locked the door and demanded our cell phones – all before asking for any money from the register or my safe. It was odd and I think your husband picked up on something strange right away…"

"You're right," Emma agreed, "what you're describing doesn't sound like a run of the mill robbery."

Deputy McCallen had been busy scribbling away in his notepad, absorbing and recording all of the highlights as Ms. Scott relayed them and despite his limited investigative experience, he was also decidedly skeptical about the criminals' intent. Even without knowing that Jean Scott's security camera was a product of the late 1980s, their unusual actions didn't make a lot of sense. Why would they be taking their time? Delaying and hesitating would increase the probability of getting caught – exactly the opposite outcome that most criminals would be looking for. So why did they lock the door and take their time?

"Did they keep your phones so you couldn't reach out for help?" McCallen asked.

"Sort of," Jean replied, motioning toward her aquarium. "They dumped both of our phones in there. I pulled them out before the Portland cops got here, but they were both ruined. They'll probably end up making my fish sick too." It was becoming clear that this shopkeeper was more than a little bit pissed off at the whole situation and it certainly didn't seem like it was just about the money. She was taking this personally.

"I wonder if Killian tried to send me a message to let me know where he was," Emma found herself wondering. "If he'd been able to get that message through, things might have gone a little differently and you might not have been investigating a John Doe for two days. At least now I have the explanation as to why his phone kept registering as Out of Range or Out of Service Area when I tried to ping it."

"I've gotta agree – you getting that message would have helped us both out – both my case and your nerves," McCallen stated with an awkward half smile, immediately regretting his choice of words as he didn't want to get too personal again. "Anyway, Ms. Scott, what did they do after they threw your phones into the fish tank?"

"One of them was waving a gun around, barking orders at the other," Jean recalled. "The second guy went after the register and then the bossy one came toward me demanding the money in the safe. He got a little pushy with me so the guy in leather – your husband – came to my defense. He stepped between that bully and me – told the jerk to keep his hands off me and got himself a hell of a shiner in the process."

"That explains where his black eye came from," Emma sighed, "but we're still missing a huge gap of time between this shop and when he was rescued from the island…"

"Me. Scott," McCallen interrupted, remembering a detail from the security video he'd watched that needed clarification. "On your security camera footage that Portland PD shared with me, you can see one of the robbers removing something from Mr. Jones' jacket pocket. Do you recall what that item was?"

"Oh, that – it was a gold coin," Jean stated, then continued with an explanation of what had led up to the image the deputy was referencing. "We had just heard the ferry horn sound indicating it was arriving at the dock so I warned the crooks that there would soon be more customers arriving who would be really curious about why my door is locked in the middle of the day. They tried to drag me with them but your husband wouldn't let them. He told them about the gold coin in his pocket and even offered them more if they let me go. He told them he had more coins out on his boat and I guess they believed him because they changed their minds and took him with them when they left instead. Figured his coins might be worth more than the hundred bucks or so that I had here in the store I suppose."

"So Mr. Jones might have been leading them out to his own boat when they took him hostage?" McCallen speculated aloud. Emma cringed every time they referred to the Jolly Roger as a "boat" hearing Killian's voice echoing in her ear reminding her that she was a ship, not a boat. "You said he'd been waiting for a ferry?" the deputy's question continued.

"Yeah – heading out to Peaks," Jean stated.

"So it's likely that he left his boat docked out there somewhere?" McCallen theorized.

"He mentioned something about a broken bowline and came in carrying a bag of rope from Mac's down the block. I think it's still around here somewhere…," Jean tried to visually scan the haphazard mess that was her shop right now, surveying the damage done by both the robbers and the police during their investigation. It was pure chaos right now, but she spotted the brown paper bag lying on the floor under the counter. "Oh - over there. That's it on the floor behind the barstools." She pointed to the bag with its top rolled down into a carrying handle.

"A snapped bowline could have taken his mainsail out of commission making it difficult for him to get back home," Emma lamented as McCallen retrieved the bag of rope from the floor. "Well, now we know what brought him to Portland at least. One more piece of the puzzle."

"If he did leave his boat docked out near Peaks somewhere, they likely would have had to pass by Little Diamond on the way out across the bay," the deputy suggested. "They had to have had their own boat because they would have drawn a lot of attention holding a man at gunpoint on the ferry…"

"And they definitely had a gun shoved into his back when they stormed outta here," Jean reminded them of the scene that McCallen had watched at the end of the video. "What happened after they left here? What exactly did they do to him if you don't mind me asking?"

"We still don't know all of the details, but at some point after they left your store, someone stabbed Mr. Jones in the back and likely tossed him into the bay to drown," McCallen replied matter-of-factly. "We've no idea how he got to the beach, but we're pretty certain he wouldn't have survived much longer if a couple of fishermen hadn't come along and spotted him."

"Damn…," the store owner responded with a deep sigh. "Good looking stranger probably saved my life…" she repeated her earlier statement then turned toward Emma with a sincere, empathetic expression. "Please thank your husband for me. I owe him a hell of a lot more than another cup of coffee."

"I'll be happy to deliver that message as soon as he wakes up," Emma replied with a somewhat tepid, half-hearted smile. She didn't want to appear rude, but the reality of the situation had just come flooding back with McCallen's straightforward description of what might have happened to Killian. He was still lying unconscious in a hospital bed – still dependent on machines to breathe for him, but he had voluntarily put himself into a dangerous position to aid a woman he'd just met – and Emma couldn't have been prouder. Yet at the same time, that chivalrous act had left him stranded unknown and alone in that same hospital bed for two full days and she just couldn't shake the overwhelming sadness and trace of rage that she was experiencing. She struggled to maintain her professionalism, hoping Ms. Scott and Deputy McCallen weren't witnessing traces of her internal battle with her emotions. There would be a time for those to surface – when they found the men who'd wounded her husband. "We definitely appreciate all of your help, Me. Scott. Thank you for taking time to talk to us."

"My pleasure," Jean replied. "And I'm sorry about my attitude before. It's been a rough couple of days – obviously not as rough as what your husband's been through, but I'm still trying to put everything back together and get back to work. Anyway, Sheriff, I don't know where you found that man, but you've got one hell of a catch there. Hang on to that one!"

"I plan to," Emma smiled, this time genuinely as she and McCallen each shook hands with the shopkeeper, saying their thanks before making their egress to the parking lot. They'd been here just under an hour – a tad longer than she'd expected and her heart was anxious to get back to Killian's side. They were now armed with some new information though and while a huge chunk of the puzzle remained missing, pieces were falling into place. Killian had baited his captors with a doubloon and undoubtedly did have more of them stashed out on the Jolly Roger, but was he really intending to lead them out to his ship? Had he offered himself as a hostage strictly to protect the woman? Was he simply leading them away from the store before making an escape attempt? Maybe he'd foolishly thought he could take on both of his abductors – certainly not out of character for him to challenge a foe who clearly held the upper hand, or in this case, two of them. She had to believe that he'd let himself be taken as their captive in an attempt to reach a position where he would have a tactical advantage, but his current predicament meant he probably never reached that point. Somewhere along the way, whatever plan his brain had conjured had gone awry – but where? Why? How?

Those questions remained unanswered and only Killian himself would likely be able to answer them.

Author’s note:  As I work for a cruise line, I'm familiar with a lot of nautical terms but since our company's fleet of ships don't have sails, I had to do a little research into something that would hinder a ship but be a repair that Killian could complete by himself. I decided on the bowline since it would be used to help keep the sail taut in the wind.